


Just Say the Word

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst, Multi, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Sex Work, Sugar Baby, biker!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Bucky Barnes never expected you to leave. But now that you're back, with a fiance and a new life, he wants to make sure you never leave again.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 49
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly, looking up at the sky. There was no moon tonight. And no stars eithers, not that you can see much of them for all the neon lights glowing. Including the lights of the club. But those he’s rather proud of. 

They cost a pretty penny. And they make the joint look a little more legitimate. They bring in out of towners looking for a drink. People who don’t know that this is gang territory. He takes another drag and watched the smoke curl in the light. For a second, the music and the laughing, the clack of pool balls from inside, seems far away. It drifts behind him but doesn’t really penetrate.

It’s like radio static. There and not there at the same time as he watches the smoke shift and change. But it doesn’t last long. This moment of peace. 

Across the parking lot, there’s a sound. A very distinct sound of a laugh. A laugh he knows really well. And with a jolt, he realizes that it hurt somewhere behind his ribcage. He’s missed that sound. He’s missed that sound more than he realized until he heard it again. 

It’s your laugh. 

And he thought he’d never hear it again. That lilting, musical sound. Your real laugh. Genuine and bright. Not the brittle, tense sound it had been at the end. When you were walking on egg shells trying to avoid his fucking temper. Laughing at his jokes even if they weren’t funny in a desperate bid to keep him happy and keep him from accusing you of cheating. With Barton, Steve, Sam, Hell Nat once or twice. It turns out, Nancy Reagan was right about some things. When it came to cocaine, it really was best to just say no. Pot was alright. Booze was fine. But cocaine made him a paranoid asshole, which, surprisingly wasn’t a good thing as president of a biker club. 

For a moment, as he watched across the stretched, you walking on a low wall, arms outstretched, your umbrella in one hand and your date holding your other. He can’t see the guys face but the hair cut says professional of some kind. And he can’t see the suit but... He’s with you so. Probably a med student or something. He can’t be that professional. Nothing against you but, honestly. No one with a fancy job is gonna go for a cute little art teacher who can coax deer into eating out of her hand. Who wears rainbow doc martens and has a purple goddamn motorcycle. But he knows it’s you. He’d know you anywhere. He can almost smell the sage and lavender and paint smell that clings to you. The bite of aspirin that clings to your lips when you’ve been chewing up the pills trying to quash a migraine. He wants to go over there and rip you off that jokers arm. To pick you up and carry you off like a fucking cave man. Fuck you over the pool table and reclaim you as his own. 

He wants it so bad, he can feel his jaw grinding. But as you stop under the streetlight, standing on your toes to smudge a kiss against this guy’s jaw, he forces himself to stay still. To wait for you to disappear around the corner. It had been 3 years. You’d left him 3 years ago. And someone had helped you do it. He’d never asked. And after the dust had settled he didn’t really want to know. But what he did want to know is how you were back in the city now. And why. And why he didn’t know about it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke slowly and flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter. He didn’t know but he was going to find out.

\---------

When the club door banged open and everything ground to a halt. Glass clattered and every head in the room turned. 

“Which one of you fuckers knew Y/N was back in town?” he demanded.

He doesn’t miss Steve throwing back a shot and shooting a guilty glance at Nat. “Rogers you son of a bitch,” he said walking forward, “How long?”

“Leave her alone, Bucky,” Nat said warningly, pouring him a shot and sliding it down the counter. 

“Oh,” he snorts, “So you’re both in on it.”

“You threatened to kill her,” Steve hissed, “You were waving a gun around and telling her that if she was gonna fuck around on you, you were gonna make her pay. We didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky held up a hand and threw back the shot, hissing at the burn and tapping the glass on the counter for another. “I know,” he sighs, “I mean... I don’t remember it. Not really but. Yeah. I just... How long has she been back?”

“A couple weeks,” Steve admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Her new guy got a job in the city.”

“What’s he do?” Bucky asked, taking a seat. 

“Pediatrician, I think,” Nat said, “Nice guy... Bought her a really nice rock.”

Several tumblers clicked into place and Bucky inhaled sharply, choking on his drink and sputtering, “She’s getting married?”

Nat nods, “I guess they’re gonna get married at City hall and throw a nice party when the weather gets nice.”

“She still looks the same,” Bucky said softly.

Steve and Natasha look at each other over the bar and Steve throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. It had been rough. A really fucking awful few years. You two had been together so long. And you’d tried so hard to stick by him. To help him. And now? Bucky had to... deal with it. 

And as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass he wasn’t sure how to go forward. He wanted to see you. He wanted to tell you he was sorry. That he still loved you. Fuck, that he finally painted the kitchen. That it wasn’t shit brown with gold flecked pea green linoleum any more. It was the butter yellow color you wanted. And he’d had the linoleum ripped out and the wood floors polished... It was a kitchen you could finally be happy working in... but. how was he going to get to you? Could he get to you? Would you even want to see him? 

You were his first love. Since the second you gave him a pencil in math class when he was 13. The new girl. The cute one. The Quiet one. The one girl that never offered to show him her still fucking concave chest in a desperate bid for his attention. And from the jump, you were hand in hand. Giving him a reason to stay out of jail. And you stuck by him. Through boot camp. And deployment... But. He didn’t blame you for staying through the drugs. The coke the started using to deal with the depression from the PTSD. It made him mean. It made him act like a bastard. And now, Bucky knew that he’d been pushing you away. That’d he’d meant for you to go. 

But he never expected you to actually do it.


	2. Chapter 2

You lay in the dark for a long time, listening to Colin’s breathing and watching the trees outside. They’re starting to get leaves and in the shimmer of the moonlight, the delicate buds make you with your paints were unpacked. You try and focus on what you would do. How you would paint what you saw in your head. Anything to keep from thinking about Bucky. 

You hadn’t realized that the Clubhouse had moved. That they were all respectable now. But, seeing Bucky’s bike in front of the building, and then getting a heads up text from Nat that he knew you were back had been a shock. You always knew he was going to find out. You knew he would. But part of you hoped he’d` not find out until after the wedding. Not like that would change anything. 

As much a you loved Colin, as much as you adored him, respected him. If Bucky called for you, you’d go. And you knew it. Even after everything he did. And said. Because that wasn’t your Bucky. That was someone else. A product of pain no one understood, not even you, no matter how hard you tried. Bucky. He was your first love. He was your first... everything, really. And as much as you loved Colin, he wasn’t Bucky. 

Where Bucky was fire and passion, Colin was rain and calm. Colin didn’t yell. He didn’t get angry. He loved you gently. The way you love a fragile figurine. You admire them. You handle them carefully if you must. And when you put them away, you wrap them carefully in soft fabric. It was a different love from what Bucky had given you. He’d been exciting. He didn’t treat you like spun glass. Not even when you needed him to. He devoured you whole and... in the end? He’d left you no choice but to take the scraps and run. 

But, even after The Night. The night you still couldn’t talk about. The psychosis from all the drugs, the days of walking on eggshells while Bucky had a complete mental break. Things that made you anxious just thinking about it. You loved him. You loved him so completely it scared you. And there was only one solution, you had to stay away from him. As far away from him as possible. Because a love like that could only end in tears. Like Tristan and Isolde or Romeo and Juliet. And you wanted to live. You deserved to live. And so did Bucky. 

_______________

Steve toweled his hair and looked at where Natasha was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through her phone, “What’s up, baby?”

Natasha sighed, “Just looking through some old pictures,” she said, “God. We were all so young.”

Steve smiled a little, “You used to hate me. And we all thought Bucky and Y/N were gonna be together forever. Sam and Clint used to call her mom, remember?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, pausing on a picture of herself and you kissing Bucky on the cheek when he was home on leave. She remembered that party. The lapdance you’d given Bucky after a few shots. You’d been a wild child. You and Bucky were like a house fire when someone opened a window. You fed into each other. Relentlessly. Forging ahead fearlessly. 

Steve crossed the floor and looked over her shoulder, bending to kiss her head, “We did the right thing, Nat,” he said quietly. “With her gone, Bucky had to get it together.”

“And we kept her alive,” Nat agreed softly. 

Nat rolled onto her back with a groan and Steve lays his head on her stomach, “I wonder how this new guy measures up,” he mused. 

“Colin’s nice,” Nat said, “Polite. Likes baking shows. Likes Hiking. Treats Y/N like a princess.” She doesn’t say that Colin is boring. That he treats your past like fodder for a redemption story. That when you let slip something about it, he can be condescending. She doesn’t say it, but Steve hears it anyway.

“But Y/N isn’t a princess,” Steve snorts.

“Maybe she wants to be,” Nat says quietly, “Maybe she got tired of killing her own dragons.”

“What, so she’s just gonna live in the suburbs and be June Cleaver? Bullshit,” he scoffs. 

Nat doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. She knows that every relationship has problems. That maybe Colin will get better. She knows that in her mind, she’ll never be able to see you or Bucky with anyone else. And that maybe she isn’t being fair to Colin. But she can’t shake the feeling that Steve might be right. 

___________

Colin smiled up at you as you poured his cup of coffee, “Got any plans for the day Y/N?” he asked.

“I mean, just unpacking. Getting us settled in... Maybe get in touch with a few schools. See if I can get a bite on a job for when my teaching certificate transfers,” you answer, kissing him softly.

“Well,” he said, “I think that sounds like a full day.” You snort, “I’ll just be glad when you’re not paying all the bills.”

“Baby,” he chuckles, “I’m good for it. You’d not even have to work if you didn’t want to.” He half turns to watch you and you turn to put the Carafe back on the warmer. 

“I know but, I like working,” you tell him, “It makes me feel less like a sugar baby.”

Colin coughs, cheeks coloring. He didn’t like being reminded of how all this had started. An almost 40 year old man with no long term relationships under his belt looking for a companion. “I was thinking,” he said, changing the subject quickly, “That we could invite some friends for a cocktail party. After you get us settled.”

“That’d be nice,” you hum, fixing your own coffee. 

“You could invite some of your old friends,” he suggested. 

That makes you laugh, “Honey,” you tell him gently, “Unless cocktails is now short for Moonshine and pool, it’s not really their scene.”

Colin smiles wryly, “There’s really no one?”

You shake your head, “When you’re with someone as long as I was with Bucky a break up is kinda like a divorce. And you gotta figure out who gets custody of the kids... I didn’t want to make anyone choose. I just... Well. They’re Bucky’s friends now. It’d be a little weird if I just popped up at the club house and invited them over for cocktail hour.”

Colin nods, frowning, “I guess we’ll just have some people over from the hospital then.”

“A nice way to do some networking,” you agree, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he let it drop, going back to his paper and his coffee


	3. Chapter 3

In a city this size, he shouldn’t see you as often as he does but. Even after all this time, you know where to find good coffee. And Bucky is starting to feel like a stalker. Lurking on your periphery, trying to stay out of sight. 

Not that he wants to.

But how do you approach someone you did that dirty? How do you just pop up and say “Hey, babe. Remember me? Yeah. Sorry I kept you hostage in our house and threatened to shoot you because I thought you cheated on me... Anyway, I’m clean now. Take me back?” It was absurd to think you’d ever want to see him again. Let alone jump into his arms and leave your life behind. 

Besides, he’d gotten a glimpse of the rock on your finger and it was... something. A little ostentatious for your taste, he thought but. It was impressive. And expensive. Even with the shop doing well Bucky could never afford something like that for you and the thought made him sick. Because you deserved that. You deserved an engagement ring like that. And all he’d ever given you was some silver plated cubic zirconia nonsense. Sure, it was the best he could do. And sure. He was 17 with a part time job. But that’s not the point. The point was that you deserved it and he could never come close. And worse, he never even tried. He thought about it. Lots of times. But then the washer broke or the bike shop needed a part or hell, he was out of meds and the VA wouldn’t get him a refill so... drugs it was. 

It started slow. A little pot to chill him out but it hadn’t taken long for things to get harder. Anything to feel better. Anything to deal with the war still happening in his head. No matter what you said or did, it was the only thing that helped. And when you left, without a word, and Sam and Steve basically threw him into rehab, he realized what he did. 

Still as he watched you, from a distance as ordered your coffee and a pastry, he wished that at the very least, you didn’t look the same. That maybe you’d magically gotten ugly or something. But you hadn’t. You looked almost the same as when you left. Expect maybe your hair looked different. It was longer. And the color had changed some. He hid himself behind a paper and tried to stay inconspicuous. He did. He hadn’t even meant to see you. Or find you as often as he had this week. But you were everywhere and he desperately wanted to talk to you. To know if you were happy. To know if you’d come home. 

He’d missed you, this last three years. He’d meant to reach out to you. To find you, where ever you’d gone and make it alright. In his mind, when he saw you again, it wasn’t like this. This lurking on the edges. In his mind, you were happy to see him. you jumped into his arms and had your tongue down his throat and his pants off so fast he couldn’t breathe. It was instant fire, like nothing had changed. He didn’t expect a fiance. In his head you didn’t move on. Because he didn’t. Because for him, there was only one you. Only one girl that made him feel all the things that you did. And he thought you were the same way. But then, he couldn’t blame you. Financial security meant a lot in these parts, with that kind of upbringing. You were used to not having money. With him, you’d resigned yourself to being a poor military wife. Having a slew of kids and probably a part time job when they got to school. 

But this wasn’t that. 

And your shocked little gasp broke his heart.

“Bucky?” you breathe. And in that moment, his head snapped up from his paper. Heart pounding. You look surprised. Your eyes are wide and overbright a you take a reflexive step back from him. 

“Hey,” he said, feeling ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t have lurked in the corner. He should have left. But it was too late for that now. “You look good, baby girl,” he said, setting the paper down. 

He watches. Time seems to slow to a crawl and a muscle in your throat ticks while you grope for something to say. 

“I- I- I can’t be here,” you stammer, turning and half bolting out the door. Bucky wants to follow but, he forces himself to stay still. He remembers every other time that he chased you. That he made you talk to him. Made you work things out. He remembered the first time he’d done that. When he kissed you by your locker. When you were on your way to your bus. You were talking to him, telling him about your new art project and he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop himself. It was a quick kiss, over really before he realized what he was doing. And when he pulled back, you looked at him the same way you’d looked at him today. Shock and confusion. Though you hadn’t been near tears. And it had broken his heart the same way then as it did now. And he still didn’t know what to say. 

It always came to him later. As he watched your back retreating from him. 

Just like now, as he fiercely thought, “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

But this time, he couldn’t chase you. You weren’t his anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

“Y/N? Sweetie?”

The bright artificially sweet voice that chirps your name cuts through your reverie like a hot knife through butter and you shake your head quickly, mentally slapping the back of your head. “Yes?” you answer with what you hope is a polite smile instead of a grimace. 

“Where’d you go?” Tami laughed, tossing her perfectly done hair and picking up her wine glass in red manicured talons that reminded you irresistibly of evil step mothers and 90′s movie villains.

“Probably just planning her next painting,” Colin said amiably, bringing you a drink to sip and brushing a kiss against the top of your head. 

“You paint?” Another artificially saccharine voice chimes in, followed by an oily masculine chuckle. 

“Some people have hobbies, Jackie,” her husband says. 

Colin grinned and gestured to the wall, to the little ‘gallery” where he put your work. “She painted all of those,” he said. 

The dinner guests, assorted people from the hospital and their spouses all turned to look, making various polite noises of appreciation. And you smile appropriately and thank them modestly. Because you’re supposed to. But they don’t mean it, and neither do you. Not really. You hate being discussed as if you aren’t sitting there. It makes you feel like a kid outside the principals’ office trying to eavesdrop on the social worker and the principal as they discussed what to do with you. 

You spaced out again, half listening to the conversation and responding vaguely to the questions you’re asked. Your answers don’t really matter. You could practically stand on your head and flick your bean in front of everyone and Colin. Adorable Colin. Such a fucking dork, would probably just tell you that it’s not nice to ignore everyone and make you finish in front of them. The room is full of motivated people. With goals and retirement accounts. People who know the difference between a 401k and an HSA. People born to do more than work until they die. And you’re relieved when the conversation drifts to nannies and decorators with the wives and golf with the husbands. Everyone has tips to offers. Opinions on how your life should go. 

You should be used to it by now but you’re not and you hate it. So when you get the chance, you slip into the kitchen, muttering something about “checking on ice”. A hostess-y type thing. Anything to get out of the stifling living room. 

Not that the kitchen is much better, you sigh, fussing with the arrangements of snacks and opening the freezer to pretend to care about ice. It all made you miss the clubhouse. Parties there were simple. Everyone does whatever. Conversation doesn’t have to be forced. And if you run out of ice the soberest people run to the bodega on the corner. Not to mention the music is better. There’s energy and a sort of vitality to those parties. No artifice. And friends. Real friends. Not these sentient cardboard cutouts. 

Though that thought made you mentally slap the back of your hand. 

It wasn’t fair. Or nice. And even if they were gonna talk shit behind your back at brunch tomorrow, the wives were all trying to include you. Kinda. To pretend to be nice. It wasn’t their fault they traded their personality for lip filler.

You sigh and mentally slap the back of your hand again at that. There was nothing wrong with them, you corrected yourself. 

It was Bucky. 

You’d been fine with things until you’d seen him. The bastard. You weren’t sure if he was stalking you or not but. It had been a shock. He looked good. His hair was still long, but it was clean. And he was kinda scruffy looking but, his cheeks had filled out again a little and he looked... He looked like your Bucky. And it had hurt. It still hurt, thinking about him. And you had to blink back tears quickly. Clinging to the feel of the cold glass in your hand to try and hold it together. You focused on it intently and didn’t hear the footsteps behind you. 

It wasn’t until you felt hands on your shoulders that you startled, “Oh!” you yelp.

“Shh,” a voice murmurs in your ear, lips grazing your neck. “Boy I hope old Colin got a prenup,” the oily voice, Greg’s voice said. The hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“Excuse me?” you say, twisting out of his grip to face him, casting a quick glance around for something to clock him with if he touches you again. 

Greg tutted, unashamed, and smiled, “Didn’t anyone ever tell him whores don’t make good house wives? What’s the matter? Barnes get tired of you after all?”

It takes a moment. Several moments but the face and the voice finally come together into a picture you recognize. You know. Minus about 50 pounds and a shit load of acnes. “Jonesy?” you ask, incredulously. 

“Not anymore,” he said, walking forward, “Looks like neither of us is who we used to be.”

“I’m the same person, Greg,” you say softly, “I just grew up.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” he chuckled, “About the time I tell Colin how I know you.”

“You mean about the time you tried to drug me when I wouldn’t go to homecoming with you and Bucky kicked your ass?” you ask.

“THAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENED,” he hissed, “You wanted me. You always wanted me. It was just buyers remorse.”

“Sure,” you say, swallowing down the bile that rose in your throat. “I’ll just make sure to show Colin the police report.”

You knew somethings hadn’t changed. That calm. And facts. Were gonna drive Greg into a rage. And make him stupid. He’d been that way since Kindergarten. He was never wrong. Ever. About power rangers or plate tectonics. All you had to do was buy time. This was your house and Colin was going to come looking for you. It was the only thing you could bank on if you couldn’t just hit him and be done with it. 

And you were right, “Greg!” Colin shouted, as the other man stood poised to slap you. “What the fuck?”

Greg turned and gave Colin his most charming smile, “just a little bit of something from my improve group... Y/N and I are old friends.”

“Really?” Colin asked, crossing the kitchen to put an arm around you. 

“We knew each other,” you allow, “But we ran in different social circles.”

“Oh,” Colin said, kissing your head, “Well, as much as you’d probably like to catch up... Someone from IT is calling you, Greg.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’d probably better take that. Hopefully they fixed the glitch in the server.” He strolls out of the kitchen, winking at you and you can feel your skin crawl.

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine, Colin,” you answer, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek, “I was just waiting for it to be self defense and not a battery charge.”

And Colin laughs, “Don’t worry baby. I would bailed you out.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky took a sip of his beer and leaned back against the bar, watching the goings on. Steve and Sam were arguing about the best way to do a buld, Clint was playing pool, and the civilians were milling around. A good chunk of them looked a little scared. And that amused him. 

It might be a biker bar but they were probably safer here than anywhere else. Honestly. At least they didn’t traffic anything illegal. Anymore. Bucky had run some pot in his younger days to get some start up cash. And some extra money to buy the house. But. That was long over.

“You see Y/N yet?” Nat asked

Bucky sighed and turned himself around, “For a second,” he answers. “I ran into her at the coffee shop.”

“Her coffee shop?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I didn’t think she’d be there when she was.”

“Mhm,” she folded her arms and glared at him.

“I’m not stalking her,” he protested. 

“No,” she said, “But you’re seeking her out. Going places where you know she’ll go eventually.”

He wanted to protest. He really did. But he knew she was right. He wanted to see you and so he was. He looked for you without trying.

“She can’t come back, Bucky,” Nat said softly, after a long moment. “She’s got a new life now.”

“I know,” he said, “I just want... I just wanna talk to her. I want to know she’s okay.”

“And stick your tongue down her throat,” Nat said rolling her eyes. 

“I mean yeah,” Bucky snorted, “She’s still hot.”

Nat rolled her eyes and Bucky took a sip of his beer, “What’s this guy got that I don’t?”

“Don’t start that,” She warned, “That’s a one way ticket to not seeing her as a person anymore. She’s not a prize to win, you asshole.”

Bucky cringed. He didn’t want to think of you like that. Some of the women he fucked to get over you, sure. Because that’s all they were. A fuck. 

They weren’t you. The woman he wanted to have his children. The woman he couldn’t wait to be a squirrely old fuck stealing the sugar packets from IHOP while you hissed at him to put them back. The woman he wanted to succeed for. To make it all work for. Not because he wanted to win you, but because he wanted to show you he was worth it. 

“I know she’s not but... We were together 12 fucking years Nat. Hell. What’s he got that can compete with that? A gold plated fucking dick?”

“Not to belabor the point, Barnes but... So far as I know Colin never held a gun to her head,” She said pouring herself a shot.

“It wasn’t loaded,” Bucky protested softly, without much conviction. You didn’t deserve it loaded or not. He didn’t even remember it. Not really. Not until he was sitting on a couch in a therapists office during rehab and someone in the hall cracked open a soda can. And it had hit him like a train. The fear in your eyes and your voice quietly asking him to put the gun down. “Please Bucky, put the gun down,” you’d said. “I love you, please put the gun down.” You never raised your voice. Tears never fell. You just pleaded. Softly. Like you were telling him to come to bed after a fight. And that made his eyes sting.

Natasha sighed, “Look. If Steve and I can get her in the room so you can just talk to her, will you quit moping?”

Bucky smiled a little sadly, “That’s a tall order, Nat.”

“Yeah but you’re brining us all down with your bullshit,” she said, “And Y/N’s hating all those goddamn cocktails, I know it.”‘

Bucky snorted. That was probably true. You were a Whiskey Girl. Always had been. And Sam’s Moonshine probably sounded like ambrosia after all those fucking cosmos or whatever.


	6. Chapter 6

“Tasha, what’s up?” you say answering the phone without taking your eyes off the piece of canvas you were staring at. 

“Y/N, I’ll level with you,” she sighed, “Bucky misses you. We all do. Come home.”

“Nat, you know I can’t,” you tell her. 

“Come on,” she cajoled, “You don’t miss tending bar and painting on the beach? The fuck do you care about cocktails or retirement plans?”

You laugh sadly, “I don’t but... Look. I owe Colin better than just running back across the tracks. It’s not just about me, anymore Baby.”

The silence that stretches out for a moment is deafening and Natasha takes a deep breath, “Look. Forget Bucky for a minute. Just. Just come home I’m tired of being the only bitch who can pour a decent drink.”

“Forget about Bucky?” you snort, “In his clubhouse? That’s like telling me to forget about the pope in church.”

“I’ll have Sam take him somewhere. Maybe to get a new tat or something and you can drop by. We can talk shit and I’ll pour you into a cab home before they even think about coming back,” she reasoned.

“Tasha,” you scold gently.

“No for real,” she pressed, “Bucky wants some new ink and I bet you I could get Steve to pay for it... Hell. We’ll send Steve to. Shut down for the night and throw a girl’s night. Please? C’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t miss your fucking bike. Or moonshine... Sam just made a fresh batch.”

“If this is a set up I’m gonna shave your head while you sleep,” you warn.

“Bucky wants it to be,” Nat said, “In fact Bucky thinks it is.”

“No,” you groan. 

“Look,” she said. “I’ll fix it. Just come home, okay? The Bar’s not had a good prodigal party since Clint went back to the Circus to piss Bobbi off.”

“The fuck ever happened to Bobbi?” you asked, hoping to distract her with a different piece of gossip.

“Who knows,” she said and you could practically hear the eyeroll. She’d never gotten along with Bobbi. Mostly because Bobbi... Bobbi was an acquired taste. “Hey I gotta go,” she said suddenly, “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Wait Nat!” you protest, but the line is already dead.

________

Colin was working late. And you knew he wouldn’t care too much if you went out for a while. As long as you answered your phone. So when Nat showed up at your door, hair windblown and laughing, you couldn’t tell her no. 

Not now. It felt too much like freedom on the back of a bike. Too much like home.

Home.

Something your parent’s house never was and everywhere else, Even Colin’s town house was too claustrophobic to be. Even if you weren’t driving, hugging Natasha’s back laughing as she wove in and out of traffic, it was the closest you had felt to safe in years. Which was ironic, you knew given Natasha’s propensity for daredevil stunts. But it was true. It made you want to run. Just head back across the tracks and find some shitty little house in the last ungentrified block in town. 

You missed it. You missed feeling free. Even if you knew that being broke and having no actual full time job and no insurance wasn’t freedom. Even if you had to pretend to like Bougie people with over priced haircuts. You’d seen Italy. France. Pictures in books couldn’t compare. While Colin had golfed, you’d wandered. Museums. Plazas. Endless seas of things you’d never seen before. Things you’d laid awake at night dreaming about as a little girl, trying to block out the screaming and crashing dishes. Things Bucky had laughed at you once for wanting to see. 

But you couldn’t think about Bucky right now. All you wanted was just to feel free. You didn’t want to think. All you wanted was for the world to blur at the edges and the the breeze rush the cobwebs out of your mind. Leaving no place for fear or regret to hide. Because one thing you’d learned is that no matter what anyone said, fear was not temporary. It was as solid and permanent as the memory of your mom and the blood on the floor at your graduation open house. Her Narcissistic personality not able to stand that you were getting attention. That for once, she wasn’t the belle of the ball. And she was willing to do anything. ANYTHING to make it all about her again. And fuck if she didn’t do it. The best thing you ever did was get the fuck out of that house and move in with Bucky. 

And right now that didn’t matter. Everything was replaced by the sun on your face and the breeze whipping through your hair. And to hell with the tangles. When Natasha finally pulled up in front of the club, you half wanted to plead with her and tell her to just keep going. To just keep driving. But when she swooped off the bike and kissed you on the cheek you were both laughing. “That’s better than sex,” she said, “I don’t care what the boys say.”

“I mean. You’ve never had sex with me,” you point out. 

“Nor do I want to,” she said, “It’d be like fucking my sister. It’s weird enough doing body shots off you to get the horn dogs that don’t know us to leave nicer tips.”

“That I don’t miss,” you tell her getting off the bike, “How did you always manage to fine to one ticklish spot on my stomach?”

“Please,” she snorted, “After all the times I had to listen to you and Bucky fuck, how could I not know?” When your cheeks heat, she pounces, throwing an arm over your shoulder and steering you inside “Bucky no stop,” she teases in a breathy whine, “That tickles.”

“It does,” you say shrugging.

“Still?”

You nod and Natasha tuts, “You fucking baby.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you say, stopping on the threshold. Because jesus it was like you never left. The smell of old smoke, lemon cleaner and stale beer. The glow of the neon. The old dark woods. It was like a time capsule of a dozen people you used to be. And countless nights none of you really remembered but moments that were legend. 

“Welcome home, baby,” Natasha said, scooping a beer out of the cooler and opening it deftly before handing it to you.

“I can’t stay,” you said taking it.

“Who said we fucking wanted you to,” she snorted, opening her own.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky glanced over at Steve who was frowning at his phone, “What’s up, Steve?” he asked of the drone of that tattoo machine.

“Nothing,” Steve said quickly. Nat had sworn him to secrecy. And Bucky might be his best friend but... Natasha scared him more.

“Steve,” Bucky pressed, quirking an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Steve said with more conviction, “Just some pictures from Nat’s little private party.”

“Everyone she parties with is-” Bucky trails off, eyes going wide and only the sting of Clint’s work keeps him in the chair. “Steve,” he barks.

Steve gives him a sheepish smile, “ You’re not the only one who missed her, Bucky.”

“So what, she fucking double-crossed me?” he snorted.

“No,” Steve protested, “She just... She wanted to figure out where her head was at.”

Bucky lets his head fall back and Clint sighs, “Bucky,” he said, “She’s not just yours. Yeah. She’s your girl. But she’s all our Y/n... And she was Tasha’s friend first,” he reminded. 

“I didn’t know that,” Sam chimed in taking a pull of his beer. 

“Yeah,” Clint snorted, not looking up from the tattoo he was expanding on Bucky’s arm. “They met at summer camp. Some fucking scholarship for poor girls to go. Build their self-esteem so they don’t let some greasy fuck knock them up in high school.”

“They saw some shit together,” Bucky said, smiling a little at the memory of 13 year old Nat sizing him up when he walked over to their lunch table. You were both kinda scruffy. Hood girls. Girls he understood. Girls that could probably kick his ass. And Steve’s. And Clint’s without breaking a sweat. Girls he could respect because they reminded him of his ma. Tougher than him. But somehow, it wasn’t Natasha with her sharp eyes and stubborn jaw that scared him. You were worse. You looked at him with complete disinterest. Barely a glance of assessment. It took you half a second to find him wanting and you went back to your book. The thick book, almost as big as you and bound with tape down the spine. Like you’d read it so many times it had fallen apart. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen you. He sat behind you in math class. He borrowed pencils from you. And the day before you hadn’t been there.

“I can imagine,” Sam allowed, taking another pull of his beer, “So they’re having a girls’ night?”

“Apparently,” Bucky said scowling. He wants to charge over there and demand to see you. To talk to you. Plead with you, maybe. Be didn’t know. But he knew better than to Rush Clint. Or start calling Natasha. Because he didn’t want you to bolt. It had been years since you’d been home. And you deserved a chance to breathe. To feel okay. And so far as Bucky was concerned, if the last time he saw you was any indication, you needed to be at home. 

He hadn’t been lying when he said you looked good. You did. You looked like a fucking daydream come true. But you didn’t look like you. You looked the best feral. Wild. Punk. Not manicured and pressed. Tanned without a tan line. No grease or paint anywhere. And it just made his chest ache. And it made him hate himself. You’d gotten out. Out of this fucking dead-end town. Your new guy had money. And if your purse was any indication, he had a lot of it. And Nat hadn’t been lying when she said the guy had given you a rock. It was a small planet on your delicate hand and for a second, Bucky bitterly wondered if it made it hard to hold a paintbrush.

“Buck,” Steve said, “Let them have this.”

“Fine,” Bucky sighed, “but if Clint gets done before she leaves I wanna talk to her... I just. I just want to know she’s okay.”

“Did she look okay at the Coffee shop?” Clint asked.

“Too skinny. Tan. Hair she didn’t cut herself... but. Yeah,” he answered, reluctantly


	8. Chapter 8

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your forehead on the bar, “Nat, I can’t do any more Betty Specials. I just can’t.”

“You’re slacking,” She said downing the radioactive colored shot.

“Or I’m just getting to old to do Candy, Drugs, and a shot for dinner,” you counter.

“It’s all those fucking bougie drinks,” she said lining up another Betty Special on the counter in front of you.

“You’re gonna have to pour me into a cab,” you protest.

“That was always the plan, baby.”

You roll your eyes and jump off the stool you’re sitting on making your way to the ladies’ room. “If you puke in the sink you clean it,” Nat yelled after you, “You fuckin’ light weight.”

Your middle finger extends and you half turn so she can see it clearly as you push the door open with your hip. “It still looks like a whore’s dressing room in here!” you yell, snorting to yourself when Nat huffs a laugh. The deep red and black damask patterned paper you and Nat had picked out. The soft glow of the laps. The black tile floor. You and Nat had wanted some sophistication in the ladies’ room. And at 20, this had been tops. Real class you thought. Now it just looked like a rejected set from Moulin Rouge. But still. It made you smile. Especially remembering all the times you and Nat had had war councils about the boys in here. The couple cases of beer and wine you’d gone through together doing the decorating. And all the nights you had to hold each others’ hair and wipe away tears.

And half way through your little trip on memory lane, as you look up and see your eyes in the mirror, you understand just how plastered you are. And it feels good. It’s a specific kind of drunk. The kind that feels warm in your belly. The kind of drunk you hadn’t been for a long time. The alcohol doesn’t sit like a rock, holding you down. It doesn’t flood over the barriers you put up. Like a river rising after a storm, carrying with it debris and things you wish would stay dead. But there’s no time for debris today. The things that give you nightmares when the moon is full or the week before your period. Nat is waiting. And there’s a Betty Special, complete with Edible gummy, waiting for you on the counter. But over the music playing from the speakers and the water running, you don’t hear the door open.

But you do hear it shut. 

And your head snaps up. And just like that. The warmth in your belly turns cold. 

“Hey, Darlin’,” Bucky mumbled, brushing hair out of his eyes. 

“Bucky,” you murmur, not able to move. Or think. There was too much edible on one of those Betty’s. Or too much Candy. You feel like you snorted a Pixie Stick and chased it down with a four loko. Before they took the fun shit out. 

He stepped closer slowly. Not touching you, but until he’s standing so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body. And smell the cologne. The same cologne you’d bought him one year for Christmas and he’d worn since.

But when he turned you slowly, so he could look you in the eyes, “Betty Specials, huh?” he said smiling a little.

“I think one too many,” you say, looking away. 

“Yeah,” he said tiling your chin up, tutting, “You can’t run with the big dogs anymore, babycakes. Not without some practice.” You’re drunk. Really Drunk. And High. More than a little but less than fucked. It had been awhile, but he remembered this. And he could smell the liquor on your breath. It reminded him of prom. The first time. One a blanket in the park by the pond. Stars shining and moonlight. Fumbling and giggling. Scared to death but thrilled to be together. 

“I- I need-” You stutter. But you can’t get the words out. Bucky’s lips crash into yours and the dam bursts. There is no resistance to the debris. This flood is happening and you can’t stop it. And you don’t want to. “Bucky,” you sigh against his lips, and he doesn’t need any more encouragement. He picks you up and puts you on the counter, licking hungrily into your mouth. And you taste the same. You moan against his lips and his hands find your hair, tangling in the windblow curls. And you’re lost. Drowned. He knew how to push buttons. He knew what you liked. And it was clear that he’d never forgotten. 

But when he comes up for air all you can do is cry. Burst into tears like a sorority girl too many keg stands deep. Too many wine coolers and not enough to eat.

“Baby,” he stammers, reaching for you. That wasn’t what he wanted. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss you. He just has.

“Get out!” you scream. “Fuck. Fuck. God damn it!”

And all at once, Bucky can’t breathe. “Shit Y/N you didn’t-”

“Get out!”

And for once, the man who swore he’d not take orders ever again falls back into retreat. Because once again, he’d put his dick before your heart. And once again he’d ripped the rug out from under you. Because if you were nothing else, you were loyal. Hell, he was the only guy in basic that never had to worry about his girl back home. Ever. You felt guilty if you even THOUGHT you crossed a line. And Bucky knew this was definitely a line. This wasn’t a chat. This wasn’t an old friend buying you a drink. This was a tongue down your throat and a hard on against the crotch of your jeans. This was several clicks out side of okay.

“What did you do?” Nat hissed, smacking him in the head as she pushed into the bathroom to grab you, “Fuck Bucky!”

“I’ll call a cab,” he murmured, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Nice one, Barnes.”

“Damn it, Buck,” Steve sighed. 

“I know,” he breathed, “I just-”

“Didn’t think,” Steve finished.


	9. Chapter 9

Nat didn’t ask questions. She just hustled you out the side door and stood with you waiting for a cab. 

“Text me when you get home,” she said, kissing your head. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “Nat?”

Yeah?”

“What do I tell him?” you ask.

“The truth, baby. Just tell him the truth.” She smiles a little and brushes hair out of your eyes, “It’ll be okay. Hopefully.”

And as you get into the cab, you hope so too. You knew this was all a bad idea. That all Bucky had to do was ask and you’d fall into his arms. That being so close to him was going to be the one thing you couldn’t resist. He was your addiction. Your kryptonite. Heroine in a human body. And you already wanted more. 

The cab ride gave you time to think, but in your haze all you could feel was the ghost of Bucky’s lips on your neck and his hands in your hair. It made you cry all over again. It felt so good. Right. Until his hands searched for the button of your jeans. And now the guilt gnawed at you. Colin deserved better. He was a good man. He’d treated you well. And you’d gone and done this. 

After you’d been so careful. For years you’d banished all thoughts of Bucky. You hadn’t let yourself day dream. You hadn’t talked about him. You put all the memories of him in a tidy little lead box and welded it shut. Relegating it firmly to the past. But Bucky had a talent for trouble. Both causing it and getting out of it, and you weren’t sure what he was doing now. You paid the cabbie as you got out and thanked him before slinking up the steps.

You felt gross. Slimy. But Colin deserved to hear what happened out of your own mouth. Face to face. You just hoped that he’d let you sleep on the couch before he threw you out. And that he didn’t yell too loud. Your head was pounding. 

At the door, you pause and take a deep breath. Partly to calm yourself and partly to stop the hall from spinning. And slip inside.

“Babe? Is that you?” Colin calls.

“Yeah,” you say, dropping your bag by the door.

“How was-” he breaks off, looking at your face and winces, “That good huh?”

“I- I- fuck Colin,” you stammer, swallowing hard, “Bucky showed up I. I mean I kissed him. I was drunk and-” Colin cuts you off gently, putting a hand over your mouth.

“Shh, y/n,” he said gently, “Stop right now. We’re not talking about this tonight. I appreciate your honesty. But. You’re still drunk. And upset. We’ll talk about it after you sober up.”

He takes his hand off your mouth and wipes tears away, “You never talk about him,” Colin said quietly, “I thought you were over him.”

“I- I’m sorry,” you murmur, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

“I know,” Colin said softly, “You’re not a cheater. That’s why I picked you. I just. I guess I thought that if we came back here and we were engaged it would keep him away from you.”

You wince and Colin sighs, “I guess I was wrong but- let’s, let’s just put you to bed, huh? Get some water and a tylenol in you.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” you protest. 

Colin shook his head and smiled a little, “If you’d hidden shit from me and I found out later, I’d be pissed. But. I know you, babe. Just- We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

\------------

Colin sets a cup of coffee in front of you and sighs, “You hardly slept. I figured if you were that fucked up you’d be out.”

“Betty Specials,” you explain, “There’s a lot of upset and downs with those.”

“What the fuck is a Betty Special?” he asks. 

“A shot, an edible, and a pixie stick,” you explain, “It’s amazing but... It was better when we used to do it with shrooms.”

“Jesus,” Colin chuckled, “Did you even know who you were kissing?”

“I knew,” you said wincing. 

“What happened?” 

You exhale slowly and take a sip of coffee. Taking a second. Not to compose a story but to try and figure out how to explain. “I- Nat and I were having a girls’ night,” you start. “Betty Specials, gossip, the works. Bucky was supposed to be with the rest of the guys getting a new tat or something. Buy us some time you know?” Colin nodded and made a soft sound, encouraging you to keep talking. “And I guess they got back to the club while I was in the bathroom because... Well. I Bucky showed up and I just. He kissed me and... I kissed him back.”

“One kiss?” Colin asked. It wasn’t a judgement. It was just, clarification. 

“More like... making out,” you admit. You can’t look at him, you stare into the depth of your coffee cup and swallow hard, waiting. 

“I’d ask if you love him but, I don’t make a habit of asking stupid questions,” Colin said ruefully. 

“Colin I-”

But he kisses you quiet gently, “Y/N, you and I both know what this is. It’s friendship, sure. Convenience. But it’s not love... But. Babe. Don’t go? Give me a chance? We’ll go on a trip or something. Go to Mexico. I can make you happy. We can have kids and give them a good life. Hell. We can adopt dogs if you want. I don’t care I just- Just don’t go.”

“Colin,” you murmur softly, “Don’t you want love?”

“I had it once,” he said, “I med school but... My best friend had other plans.” He smiled ruefully, “We get one great love, Y/N. Just one. I had mine. And Bucky... I know he’s yours but. Can you trust him?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“But,” Colin pressed. 

“Not buts,” you murmur, “I just don’t know.”


	10. Chapter 10

“How do you feel?” Nat asked as you put the phone to your ear. 

“Betty hangovers are the worst,” you tell her, snuggling into your blanket.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “For real. Why do we do them?”

“Because they’re fun,” you snort.

You can practically hear the eyeroll and it makes you smile. “Steve, the fucking asshole, woke me up frying bacon,” she tells you. 

“Ooo,” you wince, “That’s low.”

“Right? Who does that,” she huffed, “Your best friend does not get to make mine cry and then you get laid.”

“Tasha,” you protest.

“He was supposed to keep Bucky occupied,” she explained, “But Steve’s a dummy and can’t keep secrets.” She sighs, “I just wanted to let you know, Steve told him your address.”

You groan, “What. The. Fuck. Tasha I’m trying to stay away from him.”

“I know,” she soothes, “I’m sorry.” 

You make a soft frustrated sound and sit up slowly. “I need to tell Colin, Just so he knows.”

“What did he say about last night?” Nat asked. 

You sigh, “I- he wasn’t mad at me.”

“What?” she stuttered.

“I know. I figured I’d at least get a lecture but... no.”

“I’d have lectured you,” she said.

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Do you gotta get to work today?”

“Not if you got other plans.”

“I was thinking about getting a new bike.”

“Oh shit. Really?”

“I mean I had to sell mine to get a place to live... I miss it.”

“Bet,” Nat said, “Know what you’re looking for?”

“No... I probably won’t even buy anything today. I just wanna look.”

“Well you know what ever you buy, I can get Steve to fix it for you.”

“Tasha.”

“What? You think I won’t pay him in sexual favors for you?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. “Bye. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Bye, babe,” she giggles, hanging up the phone.

You lay there for a second thinking and Colin leans over the back of the couch to kiss your head, “Did I hear you right? Planning on looking at a motorcycle today?”

“Just looking,” you say nodding, “I miss it.”

“Need money?” he asked, toweling his hair.

“I’ve got a pretty chunk of change saved from my commissions and stuff,” you answer, “And I know people that can do the work for me.”

“That’s true,” Colin said, taking a seat next to your feet, “And it’d be pretty hot if you picked me up from the hospital on it.” he grinned and your set you feet in his lap. 

You smile a little, “Golf today?”

He nods, “Dad wants to get lunch,” he sighed. 

“Have you told them you’re planning on marrying me yet?” you tease.

“Nah,” Colin said grinning, “Thought I’d save that surprise for Mom’s next garden party.”

You snort, “I’ll wear something backless and short, huh?”

“Yes please,” Colin said, leaning down to kiss your calf. 

“Colin?”

“Hm?” 

“Steve gave Bucky our address.”

Colin stops and takes a deep breath, looking up at you, “Anything I should worry about?”

You shake your head, “Bucky’s a lot of things but... He’s not a thief. Or a stalker.”

“And he’s not going to murder me?”

You smile a little, “Nah, he usually lets Nat defend my honor... He only beat up a handful of guys for me and that’s... I mean there were extenuating circumstances.”

Colin nods, “I could see that,” he said softly. “I’d like to punch him in the mouth right now... But Nat could probably actually do it.”

You laugh and Colin pulls you up to kiss you softly, “Call me if you need money or something?”You shake your head and he chuckles, “You’re the worst Sugar baby,” he teased, “Starting to feel like I’m not holding up my end of the deal.”

“You can make it up to me later,” you answer, swinging your feet off his lap to go shower.

“Promise?” he called, smiling a little.


	11. Chapter 11

“You must be Bucky.”

The Biker rocked back on his heels and tried not to look surprised. Colin was older than he expected. And in better shape. “Yeah I uh- Is Y/n here? I wanted to apologize.”

“She left with Natasha a couple hours ago,” he said, “Something about breakfast and retail therapy.” He shook his head fondly and sighed. 

“Are you gonna hit me?” Bucky asked. 

“I learned a long time ago not to pick fights I’m gonna lose,” he answered, leaning on the door frame. 

“So...”

“I may not hit you in the mouth, but those doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you just walk back in here and take Y/N like some fucking cave man,” Colin said levelly. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Do you even know what it was like after you got done with her?”

Bucky shook his head, “Look, I know you love her. And if she loves you I don’t want to stand in her way. I just want to apologize. I crossed a line. I knew better last night. And she deserved better.”

Colin tilted his head, “I’ll tell her you dropped by,” he said. 

“You will?” Bucky asked disbelieving.

“Fuck no,” Colin said, “The further she stays from you the better.” And Bucky couldn’t even be mad as the door swung shut. Bucky wouldn’t want you talking to Colin either. He doesn’t want you with Colin. But. You’re not a baby. You’re not property. But he understands the impulse. The way your doe eyes and freckles could stir a protective instinct. Even in men like Colin. 

Colin was the kind of guy that had spent high school calling you a slut and then trying to get into your pants at parties. The kind of guy that could get by with his brains but had the charisma of a wet sock. And Bucky didn’t doubt that the current positive things about him were probably your doing. Clothes and a decent hair cut. The kinds of things money could buy but one had to be taught. Things you and Nat had learned to blend in at fancy parties when you were making money as arm candy. Or being charming to distract someone while he and Steve stole a car. Whichever. 

Colin had money but never learned the class that went with it. That he could tell. 

And Bucky wondered if you’d worked Colin the same way you worked him. Gentles suggestions and compliments. Quietly rotating new clothes into the wardrobe of things he actually wore and quietly stealing away the things that had holes in them. 

A quiet conversation with the barber. 

New Cologne.

Some new boots.

Jeans for Christmas.

A watch. 

Baby steps. Enough to convince anyone that they deserved to look nice and be well dressed. 

Until he pawned the watch.

Until he got kicked out of the barber shop.

Until you had to hide money away for bills and there wasn’t anything for shirts. Or boots. Or jeans. You hadn’t even been able to afford make up and groceries had been bought on a shoestring. The lights got shut off a time or two. Car insurance lapsed. Things he promised you would never happen. 

Things he swore to protect you from as he wiped away tears and held a bag of frozen peas to the side of your face where it had hit the counter when you staggered back trying to get your suitcase from your mom. 

Bucky got on his bike and his head fell forward. He hated the army. He hated your parents. But more than that, he hated himself. He had broken every promise he ever made to you. Big or small. Systematically. One by one as if he was doing it on purpose. And fuck if Colin wasn’t keeping them. A nice big house and that rock... He couldn’t compete with that. Even on his best day. 

All he had on Colin was that he loved you first.


	12. Chapter 12

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.”

“Colin, breathe babe,” you laugh softly.

“Then slow down, fuck!”

The helmet might muffle his voice but nothing could muffle your laughter as you rev the engine and surge forward, weaving deftly in and out of cars like they’re standing still.

It’s like you’ve never stopped riding and it feels like flying, even with Colin clinging to your back like a monkey. “Colin,” you say, slowing down as the traffic thinned out, “Breathe. And open your eyes.”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“If you puke in my helmet...”

He groaned again and rested his forehead against your shoulder. “We’re almost there,” you tell him.

The rest of the ride is quiet but for the engine of the bike and when you pull up to the lake, backing into the parking space, Colin loosens his grip. “Shit,” he groaned, “Is it always that scary?”

“Only if Nat’s Driving,” you answer helping him out of the helmet and kissing his cheek.

Colin reaches up and brushes windblown hair out of your eyes, taking a deep breath, “The Lake?”

“A lake,” you tell him nodding, “One the tourists haven’t found yet.”

“Ooo,” Colin says, “A secret? Are you gonna get in trouble with the town elders or something?”

“It’s not that deep,” you snort, “But, I thought we could use some sunshine.”

You unpack the basket of lunch you brought and a blanket, holding a hand out to Colin. He smiles and laces his fingers through yours. “I don’t get enough golfing?”

“You might if you golfed more than you hung out in the clubhouse networking,” you tease. 

“Fair,” he chuckled, laying out the blanket. 

For a moment, you stand on the sand and watch the gentle waves come to shore. The warm air smells of dogwood, cut grass, and water. And for a moment, you’re miles away. Almost a decade away. Because a day like this used to mean one thing and one thing only. It meant Adventures. It meant a barbecue and coolers of beer. A bonfire. And this little picnic wasn’t close to that but. Colin looked happy. Content lounging in the sun on a blanket. And you were reasonably certain that in his parents’ little world no one had ever thought picnics were proper. They were the kind of people who refused to eat anything with their hands. Pizza, Burgers, it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t something designed to eat with a knife and fork, they would eat it that way anyway. 

“Where’d you go?” Colin asked as you kneel down with the basket. There was no judgement, just... curiosity. 

“Just, remembering, I guess,” you answer. 

“Remembering what?” he asks.

“Nothing important,” you say smiling, kissing him as you set out fruit and some bread and cheese. 

Colin smiled and kissed your forehead, “You can talk about him, you know.”

“I know,” you say, “I just... I wouldn’t know where to start. How do I talk to my current fiance about the 12 year relationship I had with my childhood sweetheart that ended in rehab, a gun being held to my head, and an ENTIRE biker gang staging a coup against their leader to sneak me out of the state?”

Colin snorted, “Wherever you want, babe,” he said softly. “I know- I know that you can’t really be here and not run into him. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend your past didn’t happen.”

“Sometimes I want to pretend it didn’t happen,” you say softly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, opening a drink for you, “Really.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say smiling, “The dumpster fire my life here was isn’t your fault... and it wasn’t all bad. We had some really nice bonfires by this lake.”

“Bonfires?”

“Yeah,” you answer, looking out towards the water.

“I’ve never been to one,” Colin mused.

“Frowned upon at the country club, huh?”

“Oh. So much,” he chuckled, “You know mom. Food shouldn’t be served outdoors.”

“Can our housewarming party be a barbecue?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “Maybe we’ll even do a bonfire.”

“Ooo,” you muse, “I’d really like to watch her try and eat a s’more with a knife and fork.”

“You’re so evil,” he said shaking his head. “So. So. Evil. And so hot... I love it.”

“Enough to let me re paint the kitchen?”

“What, you don’t like eggshell?”

“I was thinking... yellow. I like yellow.”

Colin frowned and mock scowled at you, “And undo all the decorator’s hard work? What?”

“A white and black interior is HARDLY hard work,” you sigh, “It’s like 80′s futuristic and I hate it.”

Colin smiled indulgently and kissed your nose, “Whatever you want, babe... It’ll probably look better if you do it. And if we throw dinner parties it’ll look better for everyone to be able to be comfortable. And if the house looks less like a bachelor pad.”

“Bachelor pads are notoriously gross,” you add, nodding, taking a sip of your coke.

“I wouldn’t know,” he chuckled, “Mom always hired cleaners for me.”

You snort, “I know,” you tell him drily, “She thought I was your maid until she caught you grabbing my ass.”

“And now I understand why you’d rather get married in Vegas,” he said, shaking his head.


	13. Chapter 13

“Bucky, Oh god!”

“Shh,” he chuckled, kissing a line down your throat, “You’re gonna get us caught, babydoll.” He pins you gently against the tree behind you and smiles against your skin. “This is gonna be good for you,” he promised.

You whimper and hide your face in his shoulder making him shift your weight to hold you closer. “Hey,” he rumbles, “Baby. What’s wrong?”

He isn’t sure what the sudden shift is. But that’s not a “please,” whimper. That’s a scared whimper. The whimper he heard when you woke up from a nightmare. The sound you made when you found knives in places they shouldn’t be. 

“I can’t- I can’t I can’t-” you start to stammer and swallow hard, blinking fast to try not to cry. 

“No no no,” he says quickly, wrapping his arms around you, “You’re okay, baby. Was that too much? I’m sorry. We can stop. It’s okay. Shhh.”

For a few minutes, as he struggles to just hold you and not grind on you, he focuses on the smell of your hair. Vanilla and coconut and cigarette smoke. You smell good. Familiar. And it helps. 

“Shhh,” he soothes again, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry I just-” you don’t know how to explain it. It all felt really good. Bucky felt good. You knew he’d never heart you. Not on purpose. And you like the feel of his skin under your hands and his lips pressed against yours. He knew just where to press and it was great. It made you feel like you were in one of the novels you stole from your grandma’s house. To read in the tree house behind her trailer. 

“Hey,” he said, kissing you softly, “It’s fine... Probably a good thing if we don’t do it now. Pretty sure I’d nut in like a second.” He gives you his trademark crooked smile and you giggle in spite of yourself. 

“Bucky,” you huff, laying your head on his shoulder.

“What? I been starin’ at you in that little sundress all day. I’m only human.”

And you don’t have anything you can say to that. It feels good being held. Being understood. And in the light from the fireworks flashing across his face makes this whole thing feel like some magical moment as the smell of gunpowder and cut grass hang in the air. A heavy, heady perfume that mixes and mingles with the smell of grape bubble gum, shoplifted from the bodega and the smell of oil and gasoline that clings to Bucky no matter the season. It feels like you’re flying as he tickles your side, making you squirm to be put down.

And he does. Laughing and giving you a head start as you scoop up your shoes and sprint barefoot over the grass. racing between blankets and families. Giggling. And you’re 14 again. A kid. Playing. The loss of your virginity and the taste of Bucky’s tongue in your mouth forgotten as you try and dodge his grasping hands. And it isn’t until you pause. Just for a moment, to watch the sparks above your head, that you realize something important. Nothing is ever going to burn as bright as this moment. And like a firework, it’s gone too soon.

________

You pick up the pack of grape bubble gum and smile a little. You don’t even need to taste it to know what it tastes like. Or to remember what it makes you remember. But you shake your head and put it back. 

“Get a grip,” you tell yourself quietly, turning to start putting your stuff on the conveyor belt. Things for Sangria. And a homemade pizza. The perfect way to spend a day lounging by the pool, you figured. 

A way for you and Nat to get drunk WITHOUT going to the bar while Colin was away at a conference. Something about vascular resections and mesh. Or something. Things so far out of your depth you could practically feel your eyes glaze over. 

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps up and you look around, taking a moment to scan the sea of faces looking for someone who had said your name. And your chest hurts. “Hey, Winnie,” you cheeks heat and you want to run away. 

“It is you,” she said, stepping closer to talk with you, “You look good, baby girl. life treating you okay?”

“Yeah I- how are you?”

What do you say to your almost mother in law? The woman who fed you dinner more times than you remember. The woman who got so mad at you once when you said you were too stupid for college that she smacked you in the mouth and swore that if she ever heard you say that again she’d lay you out. The same woman who might have been more excited for you to marry her son than she’d been when her son was born.

“I’m good, baby,” she said smiling, reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes. 

“I- I- I-” you stand there stammering and swallow hard, not sure what to do. Or say.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said, chucking you under the chin, “You hear?”

You nod, blinking back tears and she pulls you into a hug, “You did what you had to do,” she whispered, “And I’m glad you’re home. It’s been too quiet around here for way too long.” She lets you go gently and grins, “Fucking accident looking for a place to happen... But there’s a Dr. Pepper and a kitkat in my fridge for you whenever you want it, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, wiping away tears. 

She nods, “The number for the house is still the same,” she tells you, “Give me a call? My kitchen needs touched up.”

You smile a little and wipe your eyes on the backs of your hands, “What’s Bucky gonna say?”

“Bucky can eat a dick,” she said sternly, “I wanna know who the fuck he’d think he is tellin’ me I can’t catch up with my favorite daughter.”

“Winnie,” you start

“I’m serious,” she said gently, “I ain’t keep you alive for 12 years to just cut you loose because of his stupid ass. Because darlin’ he’s my son. And I love him. But the stupidest thing he ever did was chase you off. And I don’t think I’ll ever let him live it down.”


	14. Chapter 14

You pushed your shopping cart ahead of you, idly digging through your purse for your keys, “Always at the bottom,” you murmur, “Fuck me.”

You can hear people. Cars. Footsteps. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to raise the hair on the back of your neck and set you to walking faster.

All you wanted to do was find your fucking keys.

Keys you didn’t know that you didn’t have. Keys that had already been lifted out of your purse while you were considering bottles of rum. You stop by your car and thud your head against the door gently, “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it,” you mutter. 

“Missing something?”

The voice, vaguely gloating and terrifyingly familiar makes you turn. “Greg,” you say, instinctively backing up. 

“The one and only,” he said smirking, “Now angelface, we can do this two ways. The easy way or the hard way. And Brock would rather have you do it the easy way.”

“The fuck does Brock want with me?” you ask, cursing silently. This was gonna be bad. Real bad. And you weren’t sure how you were gonna get out of it. How you were gonna get word to anyone. Or who to fucking call. Cops were a death sentence. And Colin, bless him, was gonna call the fucking cops. 

“What he always wanted,” Greg snorted, grabbing your arm and pulling you forward roughly. 

“Pretty sure he’s not gonna want me bruised,” you say wincing. 

“Darlin’“ Greg said, pulling a gun from his pocket and cocking the hammer back, “Bruises are gonna be the least of your worries.”

_______

“I’m coming, hang on!”

The banging on the door was incessant and loud. It sounded like police and Colin felt his heart jump into the approximate region of his throat. When he swung the door open, the last thing he expected to see was half a biker gang.

“Jesus,” he breathed, “What-”

“There’s no time to explain,” Bucky said, “But Y/N’s in trouble. Big trouble. And she’s gonna need a doctor.”

“The cops-”

“Not if we want her back alive,” Bucky said grimly, “Be ready. I don’t know how bad this is gonna be.”

And Colin doesn’t have time to reply before Bucky is down the steps and shouting orders. 

________

Bucky glanced down at his phone and swallowed hard. Hours. You’d been trapped. Scared. For hours. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. All there was, he told himself, was getting you back. 

And to get you back, he had to play the game. 

“Buck,” Steve said tensely, “Do we know why they took her?”

“I have a hunch,” Bucky said exhaling slowly.

Steve gestured waiting for Bucky to continue and Bucky took a deep breath, “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else,” he said, “Not even Nat.”

“As if Nat doesn’t already know,” Steve snorted. 

“She doesn’t,” Bucky said softly, “I wasn’t even supposed to know.”

Steve hissed and nodded. Silently giving his word that he wouldn’t let what he was about to hear go past this point and Bucky took a deep breath. 

“Do you remember that one guy Debbie dated? Back when we just started high school?”

“Which-” Steve paused, thinking and felt his eyes widen, “The creepy one?”

Bucky nodded, “The one with the son, yeah... Well. Y/N didn’t move out because her mom made her. She moved out because that fucking kid was hiding knives and shit under her bed. Stealing her panties. The whole thing. It was gross. It’s still gross. And he still wants her.”

“Wait-”

“The kid never had his dad’s last name,” Bucky said. “He had his mom’s... And after his dad went to jail, someone had to take over the empire.”

“Fuck me,” Steve groaned. 

“And every king,” Bucky said bitterly, “Wants a queen.”

__________

“Son of a bitch,” you groan, blinking back tears from the pain in the side of your face. You aren’t sure when exactly men learn exactly how to hit a woman in the face and make it hurt Just So. But you have a sneaking suspicion it’s during sex ed, sometime AFTER you all yell penis really loudly in a desperate bid to make it not funny but BEFORE you sign a thinly veiled abstinence pledge. 

“You know,” mused the man in front of you, tilting your chin up with the blade of his knife, “Dad was right. If you want a girl you have to ugly them up a little.”

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say that won’t give him some satisfaction. All you can do is wait. Wait and pray that Brock kills you quickly or Bucky finds you sooner. 

Or at least finds a couple scraps big enough for Colin to bury.


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky couldn’t breathe. No coping skill, no visualization. Nothing helped. Nothing could block out the tight feeling in his chest and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Rumlow. Had. His. Girl.

He’d snatched her, unarmed off the street. Out of a goddamn parking lot. And he knew that he had to hurry. It had been years of planning and scheming. Obsession. And you were in danger. He was going to kill you. But not before he lived out all his disgusting fantasies. And that made his skin crawl, even as his blood boiled.

He’d seen what Rumlow wanted you for. Hell. He’d beaten Rumlow to a bloody fucking pulp once, the summer before high school because he and Barton had caught the guy outside your bedroom window waiting to scare you with a bowie knife. He knew.

And it terrified him that he’d gotten to you. You. The person who’d gotten him put away. Rumlow had had a long time to plan. A long time to think. And even longer to obsess. And now he could do whatever he wanted.

And Colin. Fucking Colin. Wouldn’t stop blowing up his phone. Or Nat’s. Or Steve’s.

“Romanoff,” Bucky barked, “Tell him we’re working on it.”

“He’s worried,” she said, face tight, “If we don’t keep him in the loop he’s gonna go to the cops.”

“Steve-” Bucky started.

“Already on it. I texted Winnie and told her to go over there. Distract him.”

Bucky growled but nodded. He didn’t like the idea of sending his mother to your house. To talk to his replacement and keep him calm but... It made sense. And, if they hauled to back for Colin to patch up, Bucky would feel better if she were there. She knew how to keep anyone steady.

And Bucky needed steady.

__________

Colin let the strange woman into his apartment. Or rather she introduced herself as she pushed past him into his apartment.

“What. The Fuck. Is going. On?” Colin said, “Natasha only tells me a few words. No one else will answer the fucking phone. And everyone is telling me NOT TO CALL THE COPS. THAT’S THEIR JOB!”

Winnifred took his arm and lead him to the nearest chair, kneeling to be at his eye level, “Listen to me,” she said fiercely, “If you call the cops, that poor girl is dead. You’ll never get her back. Rumlow will kill her in the most horrible way properly and you’ll never find so much as her little finger.”

Colin’s face paled and he swallowed hard, nodding. “What do I do?” he asked.

Winnifred exhaled slowly, “Are you a praying man?”

“Not since I was a kid,” Colin said.

“Well,” she said smiling sadly, “this is a wonderful moment to renew your acquaintance.”

“What the fuck,” Colin said softly.

The older woman took a deep breath and sighed, “Brock Rumlow has wanted Y/N for a long time.”

Colin nodded, leaning forward, “For what?”

“He’s- He’s obsessed,” she said carefully, not wanting to divulge too much of your past. If you haven’t told Colin about Rumlow, she wasn’t sure it was her place to do so.

“Why?” Colin said, “I mean Jesus Christ. How many fucking people are in love with this girl?”

“It isn’t love,” Winnifred said shuddering. “He wants to hurt her.”

“Hurt her?”

She nodded and swallowed hard, “She wouldn’t date him when they were kids... Because his dad was dating her mom.”

“So-”

“SO he’s a freak. He wants to rape her and carve her into pieces. Keep her as a pet until he’s bored with her and then drop her in a river,” she said bluntly.

Colin paled and took a deep breath, “What did she do?”

“After he started hiding knives and rope under her bed? She moved in with me... And Bucky.”

Colin’s face registered surprise and Winnifred smiled sadly, “Ordinarily, I’d have never allowed it but... If you’d have seen her, even you couldn’t have turned her away.”

“It’s the eyes,” Colin said nodding, “It’s like they inflate.”

“They do,” she snorted, “And thank god she never realized how cute she is. She’d be hell on heels.”

For a little while, there was silence. It stretched into the distance as Colin’s mind turned pieces over. As he tried to make sense of the information. As he tried not to really think about the danger you were in.

“Will Bucky get her back?” he asked finally.

“Even if it kills him,” Winnifred said softly. She wasn’t sure if Colin meant from Rumlow or from him, but either way, the answer was the same.


	16. Chapter 16

You lay awake on the floor but kept your eyes closed. You had a splitting headache and knew that if you opened your eyes, you’d be sick. You were always sick after getting knocked in the head. And they’d knocked you in the head. Hard.

So as you lay there, you take mental stock of what you remember and what you don’t. You remember the parking lot. You remember why your head hurts. And you remember where you are. That’s a good thing. All positive, really, all things considered. 

And so you turn your attention to other aches and pains. 

You assess your body, focusing on one sensation at a time and carefully assessing each possible cause of discomfort. It’s a coping skill of sorts. A kind of mindfulness. And it keep the anxiety at bay. 

if you panic, you’re going to be dead in the water. It won’t matter how fast Bucky finds you. Because Panic and Rumlow mix about as well as moonshine and lit matches. If he scents fear, he’ll escalate. Quickly. And now that your assessment of your physical pains is complete, you can hear movement.

A knife on a handheld whetstone. 

A specific sound that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. And you don’t need to turn your head to know who’s doing the sharpening. 

Or what it’s for. 

All you can do is breathe slowly and pray. Pray that someone realizes you’re gone. And realizes that Rumlow has you before it’s too late. All you can do is pray that you haven’t run out of luck and that someone will get here in time.

“I know you’re awake,” Rumlow said, testing the blade with his thumb, “You always were shit at pretending to be asleep”

“Just laying here thinking,” you muse, forcing your voice into calm you don’t feel. 

“About what?” he scoffed. 

“How weird it is being home,” you answer, stretching idly and using that moment to test your bonds carefully.

Rumlow doesn’t answer, he only tuts and shakes his head, continuing on with his knife. 

_______

You try not to hear the sound of the knife being sharpened outside your door. And you try harder to ignore it so that Bucky won’t fly off the handle. But just outside your periphery, you can sense Brock lurking. 

And even Bucky, usually calm, is tense next to you on the bed where the two of you are sprawled out looking over the schedule options for school, trying to figure out the optimum schedule. The best way for you to take classes so you can help Bucky in English and he can get you through math. 

“Y/N?” 

You hear Bucky and shake your head, “Just ignore him. He always stops if I don’t pay attention to him,” you murmur. But your lips are cold and feel bloodless. Because it isn’t true. He doesn’t always stop. 

Bucky moves fractionally closer to you where he can look up and lock eyes with the other boy. Until he goes away. He doesn’t trust the look in his eyes. The burning intensity. And he knows that he shouldn’t talk shit about your ma but. Fuck if he doesn’t trust her either. He’d heard her deny doing shit he’d watched her do. He’d seen her offer to take you for a hair cut and then tell you you had to pay for it yourself. He’d seen her take money from you and deny borrowing it. And he doesn’t think that she’ll help you.

But he will. 

He doesn’t like the way your jaw is clenched and he doesn’t like the way your hand trembles sometimes. It feels wrong. And he’s uncomfortable. 

“How about we go to my house?” Bucky said, “My ma is making spaghetti for dinner.” It’s a gambit. Something to get you out. Get you away. And he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you nod.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling. He should be asleep. Morning is going to come all too early and with it more training.

He knows that he needs to do this, that getting through basic is the first step to making something of himself. And making sure that he can give you all the things he’s promised. A pretty house, a decent car, a comfortable life with a couple kids. Some security. 

And thinking about that, about the future is what’s keeping him awake. 

He wants you to be taken care of. And he wants to be the one to take care of you. And he misses you. It makes his chest hurt and even on that narrow bunk, he wishes he had you there. Your head on his shoulder, your hair damp from the shower and smelling of Lavender. Your breath on his neck. He misses the pressure and the warmth of you snuggled into his arms. You press close to feel safe. And he loves it. Knowing that you’re safe and happy, tucked into his arms. 

As kids, teenagers trying to figure out how to be close to each other, learning how to be intimate, he didn’t know what it was. But having you close to him made him feel safe and comfortable too. Like he was holding his whole world. And he’d gotten so used to it that without you, he feels like something is missing. He’s never gotten so little sleep in his life.

He missed telling you good night and the sleepy conversations. Still, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that he was building a life for you. A life you deserved. 

____________

The woods outside the warehouse were quiet. It felt like all the little animals and deer had fled. There was no sound. 

Or maybe it was just the blood pounding in Bucky’s ears drowning it all out. He’d faced down enemy fire. Bullets and explosions. But none of that scared him as much as what he might find behind that fucking door. 

He wanted you to be okay. But every hour that ticked by made him feel like he was racing against the odds. He knew what Rublow wanted with you and he knew that even you were going to have trouble keeping him at bay for long.

“Barton, Sam,” he said, taking a deep breath, “Set us a perimeter. See if you can find us an easy in. Stay under the radar.”

They nod and start winding their way towards the warehouse, looking for a crack in the defenses. 

“Hang on, baby girl,” he said softly, “We’re coming.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, “She’s coming home.”

“No,” Bucky said, “She’s going back to Colin, but I’m gonna get her there.”

“Buck-”

“Not now,” he said exhaling slowly, “Let’s just get her out with her skin attached.”

Steve nodded, “What am I doing?”

“You’re gonna keep me sane, Steve,” Bucky said seriously.

“I-”

The scream that rang through the woods raised hair up on the back of Bucky’s neck and he turned slowly, eyes narrowed. He knew he couldn’t rush in there. Not when they were out gunned and out manned. Not if he wanted to get EVERYONE out alive at the end. But if it hadn’t been for Steve keeping a hand on the back of his neck, he would have charged down there and torn Rumlow limb from limb if it meant he never had to hear the sound ever again. 

It kept him standing. And it kept him from bolting. 

“Bucky,” Clint said in his earpiece, “we found and in but we gotta move fast. It’s around the north side. Sam put the guards down.”

Bucky listens carefully and answers his affirmative starting forward. The north side isn’t perfect. But as another scream rings out, raising the hear on the back of his neck and making his blood run cold, he knows he doesn’t have time to wait. He has to get out out of there. And he has to do it now.

_________

“Hey,” Nat’s voice in the dark draws you out of your reverie. Away from the thoughts of Bucky that are keeping you awake. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I just... Just not used to sleeping alone anymore.”

She makes a soft sound and looks over at you, “Ew.”

You snort, “I know. But-”

“I know,” she said gently. She doesn’t want to watch you tear up again. Without Bucky there to be a solid, bulky wall against the outside world, you feel raw. And the more you miss him, the easier it is to make you cry. And she hates it when you cry. 

Because you only cry when there’s no way for you to hold yourself together anymore. Because something hurts. A lot. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Nat,” you murmur.

“The same way we’ve always done it,” she said, “With heels on and hair up.”

You snort and something unclenches a little in your chest. There’s something comforting about having Nat here. To help take up space in the house. Without Bucky there, his bulk. His rattling around. The house is too big and too quiet. Big enough and quiet enough that your better judgment is suspiciously quiet when you have an errant thought about having kids. 

“What do you think about the name Todd?” you ask idly.

“Fuck no,” Nat said, and you could practically see the disdain on her face, “Every bar has some asshole named Todd.”

You snort and look over to see Nat prop herself on her elbow, “Please tell me he didn’t knock you up before he left,” she begged.

“Hopefully not,” you say shrugging, “But you know my luck.”

“Fuck me,” Nat said, “What’d I tell you?”

“Don’t fuck him until he gets a hair cut?”

“No after that, Christ.”

“Don’t wear those shoes you’ll break your ankle?”

“I hate you,” she sighed.

“I love you too Nat,” you laugh, throwing a pillow at her across the livingroom.

“Yeah yeah,” she sighed, “You’re just saying that because Steve will make a really shitty babysitter.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “Just fuck him already.”


End file.
